


Judas' Kiss

by Char7



Series: Thomas Hamilton series [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Char7/pseuds/Char7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas Hamilton always knew he'd lose James to the sea . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judas' Kiss

Thomas Hamilton always knew he would lose James to the sea. 

It was a reality he had accepted at the same time he’d accepted his love for James. Thomas had often wondered if James wasn’t a part of the sea itself, briefly manifested into flesh but would one day slip from his life, washing away with the tides. James’ eyes were the color of storm-tossed waves. His skin tasted like salt water. He even smelled like the breeze that came across the ocean, clean and fresh. 

He had learned every inch of James in their all too brief time together. The taste of him, the feel of him. Each fleck of color in his intense eyes. He’d counted every freckle, kissed every inch of lithe body. He knew every gold highlight in that luxurious red hair. He’d brushed his fingertips though it while James lay asleep next to him at night, his warm body curled against Thomas. 

He’d never known anyone who slept as deeply and peacefully as James did. He’d mentioned it once. James had seemed almost shy when he replied that he only slept that sound with Thomas. The admission had made Thomas love him all the more, even if he wasn’t entirely sure he believed that. 

The sea was James’ home, not him. He knew that one day the Navy would take James away. He’d had a taste of that in their three month separation when James had gone to Nassau to inspect the situation there. It had been the longest weeks of his life. And when James had finally returned, he knew something was different. He saw it in the stoic face that greeted him, Miranda and Peter Ashe that day. James had brought them grim news of the situation in Nassau, reports that would make their plans all the more difficult to achieve. 

The worst part of that reunion, though, had been his own insecurity. Three months and an ocean had separated them. A part of him feared that would distance them. It hadn’t. He’d nearly sank to his knees in relief when he saw everything he’d felt in their time away from one another reflected in James’ eyes. 

When they had finally obtained a moment alone in his study, away from Peter and even Miranda, he was surprised to realize he was nervous. He’d spoken in front of his peers dozens of times, spoken to Whitehall, lobbied on behalf of his beliefs, lectured students and friends. Yet he’d never been as uncertain as he was in that moment. 

But then James had kissed him. Kiss was too tame a word, perhaps. Devoured might have better described it. James’ mouth had been rough and hungry but he’d not minded. It had quelled the doubts in his head before banishing any thought at all as James pulled him to the floor, trembling fingers fumbling at Thomas’ clothes. 

James had grown a beard during his travels. He’d noticed immediately, of course, but found he couldn’t keep his hands from it once they were alone. He loved the feel of it against his skin, loved stroking it with his fingertips. He found he was still touching it the next morning, lying in bed with James. The night before had been magnificent, better than Thomas remembered it being between them. James had been insatiable, not that he was complaining. Not even about the beard burns that covered most of his skin this morning.

“You must keep this from now on,” he’d playfully ordered. “It suits you.”

James had laughed in response and Thomas noticed for the first time how weary he looked from his travels. There were circles under his eyes that spoke of restless nights and lines of worry etched around his mouth. Something was on his Lieutenant’s mind, he could tell. He’d caressed the pulse in James’ neck, quietly encouraging him to speak.

“Thomas”, he’d began, swallowing visibly. “We need to talk. About the future, about Nassau and . . . And my place in the Navy.”

The words had stilled him. He’d feared what was about to be said. He knew the future that awaited James in the Admiralty. He was bright and resourceful, well-respected and admired among his commanding officers. There was no limit to what James could achieve. He had a potentially glorious career that would be destroyed if word of their relationship fell on the wrong ears. 

And that had been Thomas Hamilton’s greatest fear -- that James would choose the Navy over him. That the sea was more entrenched in James’ blood than Thomas was in his heart. 

Miranda had gently knocked on the door before James could say more. Thomas had gladly welcomed her interruption on that occasion. Urgent business demanded his attention and James began making plans to meet with Admiral Hennessey. James had promised him they would finish their conversation later, although neither had known the betrayal lying in wait that would deny them that chance. Deny them everything. 

Until the moment of that betrayal, though, he had lingered in the wake of James’ exit and mulled over what might be to come. He had known for some time that he should end their affair. 

No, he should have never begun it. He should’ve never kissed James that first time. He knew the attraction that was between them. They had both felt it from the start He had seen that reflected in James’ eyes. Their looks had lingered too long, the accidental touches that neither were quick to pull away from. The conversations that lasted all night. The deep trust that had formed between them. He knew he was falling in love with James the more time they spent together. He had not realized just how hard he’d fallen, though, until that night when James had defended him to his father. No one had ever spoken to Alfred Hamilton like that in the old man’s life, much less done so in defense of his eldest son. Thomas knew in that moment how far gone he was and the second his lips touched James’, there was no turning back. 

He’d never thought it possible to love someone as much as he did James McGraw. Thomas burned for his touches. Basked in those breath-taking smiles James would toss in his direction. Longed for their nights together. Dreamed of an impossible future. And dreaded the reality of what would eventually come. It would destroy him when James left. Faded back into the waters from which he had risen.

Yes, Thomas Hamilton had always known he would lose James to the sea. . . . He just never thought it would be this way. 

Slowly, he turned from the barred windows of Bethlem Royal Hospital, the hell hole that had been his prison for five weeks now. He took in the guilt ridden face of the man he’d once called friend and ally, Lord Peter Ashe. 

It had taken him no more than a few minutes after his father’s men came for him to piece together who his Judas was. He’d known it that night and seen it in Ashe’s eyes the first time the man had visited. He hadn’t confronted him then, he needed answers too badly to do so just yet. He needed to know what had happened to James and Miranda. Had Ashe at least had the decency to take them from the country as Thomas had requested? 

He had tried, Peter swore. He had tried to safely spirit them from England but James had refused. The thought had first brought a smile to Thomas’ lips, imaging his fiery lover blistering at Ashe’s attempt. But then a fear had set in -- if James and Miranda had not fled the country then where were they? Dear God, please do not let James have stubbornly decided to stay and defy his father and the Navy. 

But then Ashe had explained. It was neither James’ pride nor his fighting spirit that had made him reject Ashe’s offer. It was hatred . . . Hatred for all things Hamilton. 

“He cursed you,” Peter Ashe had woefully retold. “You and your father. He said he would do better making plans for himself. I begged Miranda to let me send her to my friends in Paris but she chose to go with the Lieutenant instead.”

The knife that had been in Thomas’ gut since he’d arrived in Bethlem had twisted. He’d destroyed them. His idealism had brought all their lives to ruin and now the two people he loved more than life despised him for what he’d done. And he couldn’t blame them. He despised himself for it. 

Someone was screaming. Perhaps it was him? 

“Bloody hell, does that infernal noise ever stop,” Ashe answered Thomas’ unspoken question, his mouth twisted into a grimace. 

“You learn to ignore it after a time,” Thomas absently replied. Those screams had kept sleep from him for days in the beginning. Now he barely noticed them. He wasn’t sure which was worse. 

“God, Thomas . . . I am sorry. I am so sorry you were sent here. I never imagined it would be like this.” 

“Tell me how it happened,” he softly requested, ignoring Peter’s commentary on his current state. 

“No,” Peter shook his head, almost pleading. “Please, do not torment yourself.”

“TELL ME!” Thomas demanded with more force than he felt. 

Ashe wordlessly handed a newspaper to him. He felt as if he was being twisted in half as he unfolded the publication, reading the front page article. The passenger ship, “Pegasus“, departed France en route for the American Colonies when it had sailed directly into one of the worst hurricanes in recent memory. The ship had sunk in the Atlantic. All passengers and hands were lost. 

“James took Miranda to Paris on his own,” Peter narrated. “From there, she wrote to me that they had booked passage to the Americas. I checked myself, Thomas. They both boarded the ‘Pegasus‘.”

“James . . . he was a sailor. A strong swimmer,” Thomas futily tried to argue against the words printed in black and white before him. 

“That storm was a monster. Ships that skirted the edges of it said they barely escaped and ‘Pegasus’ took a direct hit. There were just splinters found, a few bodies. I’m sorry, Thomas. James and Miranda are dead.”

Someone was still screaming as Thomas crumpled the paper in his hands, crushing the words as if it would somehow defend against them. It didn’t. Nothing could stop the reality of seeing it in print, feeling the weight of it crush him. He had done this. Miranda had tried to warn him. His friends had warned him Even James had tried. He’d been too stubborn to listen. 

He wasn’t aware that Peter had crossed the small room to him until the man grasped his upper arms, clenching them tightly, “Listen to me. You will survive this. I will help you. I’m making arrangements to see you from this place. You will come with me to the Americas.”

“The Americas?” he had numbly repeated. Why would Peter go there? His life was in London.

“I have been named the new Governor to the Carolina Colonies,” Peter answered the silent question. 

The final piece clicked into place. “The Carolina Colonies,” Thomas softly repeated, unable to withhold the anger from slipping into his voice. “That is a far better price than thirty pieces of silver.”

Ashe visibly paled, stepping back as if he’d been struck. “Thomas,” he breathed. 

“I know. I have known since the night my father sent me to this hellish place. Only one person could have spoken against James to Admiral Hennessey for him to believe the accusations being made. My father alone couldn’t have turned the entire Admiralty against him. Miranda would never have betrayed me. But you, you Peter -- You the Admiral would have believed. After all, you were my ally. James’ ally. What better Judas.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashe’s voice broke. “You have to understand, Thomas, please. Your father is a fierce adversary--”

“And a most powerful ally,” he interrupted. “He could make you the King of the New World with a word.”

“He threatened my standing,” the other man rambled. “My livelihood. My daughter’s future. Yes, I made a deal with him but there’s more to it than you realize. You are to come with me.”

“What?” Thomas scoffed. “With you?”

Peter moved to stand inches from him, almost reverently reaching out to touch Thomas’ unshaven cheek, “Yes. Your father promised he would send you to the Americas after all this was over. You could start anew there. With me. We-we can be together.”

The words stunned Thomas, momentarily robbing him of speech and movement. It wasn’t until Ashe kissed him that he found his senses again. Peter smelled heavily of perfumes. The taste of brandy was on his breath, speaking of the glasses of liquid courage he’d found before this visit. For a brief moment, it was tempting for Thomas to accept the comfort offered there. But as it always did, the face of James McGraw rose up in his mind along with the memory of silky red hair that smelled like an ocean’s breeze and consuming kisses. 

Thomas violently pushed Peter away, nearly knocking him to the floor. Peter gaped at him in surprise, rationalizing. “I did all of this for us. My wife will not travel to the Colonies with me. She’s too sickly; she will stay here, so will Abigail to receive proper schooling. No one will question our relationship there. I will not stand for it. They will accept that you are my advisor. We could be happy there.”

Thomas shook his head in disbelief, trying to wrap his mind around Ashe’s confession. Peter had never given him any indication that he thought of him as more than just a friend. 

“I cannot believe you. You truly think I would go with you? After what you’ve done to James and--”

“Fuck McGraw,” Ashe hissed in barely contained rage. “He left! I didn’t. I’m here!”

Thomas saw it then. The jealousy and hatred for James buried just beneath Peter’s polished exterior. Ashe resented James for what Thomas felt for him. His mind flashed back on the three months James had been at sea. Peter had barely left his side, offering to aide him in any way possible. Acting as the only friend Thomas could rely on, hoping to endear himself no doubt. But the moment James returned, Peter had surely seen their connection was stronger than ever. And the news of lawlessness in Nassau had given Peter the excuse he needed to accept Alfred Hamilton’s offerings. He got rid of James and had himself appointed Governor of the Carolina Colonies all in one swoop.

Thomas was disgusted by this man that he had so horribly misjudged. All the years they had known one another, Peter had never acted on his feelings. Never even hinted to them. He’d used Thomas’ causes as an excuse to interact with him, Thomas now realized. He’d encouraged their wives to be friends, attended all of Thomas’ salons, debated him, and challenged him. He’d seen lovers fade in and out of Thomas’ life, knowing none where a threat. Not until James McGraw. James had changed everything.

He shook his head in disbelief. Peter had probably imagined a happy resolution to his scheme. One where no one knew of his deceit. Where James quietly slipped from England forever. Where Thomas and Miranda had gladly gone with him to the Americas for a chance to start over.

“What you have done. To James. Miranda . . . My God, how can you live with yourself?”

“My fool,” Peter said almost lovingly. “My beautiful, naive fool. I would’ve made a place for Miranda. All she had to do was listen to me, instead she sealed her fate when she went with him. McGraw,” he bitterly spat out the name. “Do you really believe he would’ve done a fraction of what I have for you? McGraw might defy your father in private but he would never defy England nor the Admiralty for you. I did you a favor by separating you from people who would’ve been your end. And I now lay before you the New World. All you have to do is claim it with me.”

“Now who is the fool? This doesn’t end well for you, Peter. For any of us,” he calmly stated, his voice flat. “I want you to leave now.” 

A hint of panic slipped into the other man’s tone as foreboding set in with that prediction. “No, no, not until you hear me. Not until you understand.”

“I understand,” Thomas calmly assured before turning in the direction of his door and screaming, “Nurse!”

“Don’t do this,” Ashe pleaded, making a move towards him. 

Thomas stepped back, putting more distance between them as he screamed again, “NURSE!”

The door to his room flew open and his nurse rushed in, two orderlies in tow. “This man is upsetting me, I want him gone,” he demanded.

“Thomas, please,” Ashe begged as the orderly stepped towards him. 

“You must leave now, my Lord,” the largest of the men stated in a polite but forceful manner. “The Earl doesn’t like people upsetting his son.”

“I’ll come back,” Peter bargained. “I will return tomorrow when you have had time to think and understand that I am right. Please . . . Please, I did this for the right reasons. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you but, in time, you will see I was right. If you will just give me a chance to show you.”

There was something in Peter’s desperate tone that stilled Thomas. “I do understand why you did it,” he admitted. Love was a powerful emotion. One that could make the best of men make the most selfish of decisions. “I even forgive you for it. Good-bye, Peter.”

He turned his back on his old friend then. He was vaguely aware of more words from Peter. An argument as the orderlies physically forced Ashe from his room. 

He had said the words he thought Peter needed to hear, words of forgiveness so perhaps the man could forgive himself in what was to come. What Thomas now knew he had to do. He wasn’t sure if he meant those words. He wasn’t sure he was capable of forgiveness. Or of hatred. Or of anything anymore. 

Save love. That he could still feel. Love for Miranda and the loyal friend and companion she had been to him. And James. His dashing, beautiful James. His love had destroyed all three of their lives and had cost him the only two people who mattered. He understood Peter Ashe in that brief moment. The things he would have done for James, if given the chance to save him. Instead all he had left was his guilt and the bittersweet memories that threatened to overwhelm his sanity. 

With a bitter laugh, he realized the irony of losing his mind only after his father had instutionalized him. He took in the dimly lit room, the barred windows, and the dirty sheets. 

Someone was still screaming. He didn’t think it was him. Maybe it was. 

Weary blue eyes caught sight of the crumpled paper on the floor, it seemed to mock him with its words of tragedy and loss.

Yes, he’d always known the sea would take James from him. He just never expected it to be by death. Foolish, perhaps, on his part. He knew sailors and soldiers died all the time. James had seemed invincible, greater than that. A foolish thought. None of them were greater than death. In that, all men were equal. 

With that thought in mind, he pulled the dingy sheets from his bed and began slowly fashioning them into a noose. 

Down the hall, someone was still screaming.


End file.
